these things only happen (when you're around)
by Reyuna Yukimura
Summary: In which Stiles is exactly where he's not supposed to be and ends up getting Derek mired in yet another Situation(TM).


This one is for shantalanadevil, who had asked for anything regarding, "mistaken identity [or something like Twelfth Night], arranged marriage, mates, age difference."

Somehow my brain took that and turned it into...this.

It's probably not even remotely what you wanted but I hope you enjoy it anyway!

Warnings: Mild AU, because this is set about 5 years into the future. Stiles would be 21 and Derek would be...I don't actually know. Maybe 27? OOC due to maturation and time progression. Also, Stiles is a fledgling witch here. Given a quick once over by my beloved beta, Ferrari, but still generally sucky. Sorry.

* * *

START

* * *

It begins like it always does whenever Stiles is involved, with what's always deemed as a small mistake to be fixed quickly and with no problems.

Derek, on the other hand, knows better - knows just what sort of havoc will be wreaked by just being in the immediate vicinity of this boy.

He finds himself mentally girding his loins and sharpening his claws because, mark his words, there will be _bloodshed and misery_.

* * *

When they'd started off on this ill-advised adventure, Stiles had not been a part of the equation. Actually, neither had Lydia nor Allison, or anyone who wasn't a full blown werewolf in their prime- because meeting with a pack of potential allies but more importantly, potential _enemies,_ will never be without risk.

Derek hadn't been willing to take that sort of chance with the most easily hurt of his pack, not that he'd ever say that to their faces, mind you, because he values his balls where they are. Attached. To him. Fully. And not ripped off and shoved down his throat.

But then he'd made the mistake of blinking, or maybe he'd looked away for a second; in any case, when he'd turned back around, Stiles had been occupying the front passenger seat.

It had honestly taken Derek a few minutes to realize exactly what had happened, and that no, he wasn't having a strange hallucinatory episode.

"Weren't thinking about going on a road trip without me, were you?" Stiles had asked, voice deceptively light as he'd given Derek his version of the hairy eyeball, somehow managing to look simultaneously brittle and like he was about two seconds away from stabbing someone with the shards of his broken heart.

"Of course not," Derek had instantaneously replied, feeling a little cowed even though he wouldn't ever admit to it.

Maybe that should've been his first hint about how this was going to go down.

"That's what I thought," Stiles had said back, obviously still suspicious but mercifully letting it go, before tuning the radio to the most ridiculous channel he could find.

After a quick look around to make sure that Allison and Lydia weren't going to miraculously appear and rip his face off, Derek had started the truck.

He'd gotten a bit of a bad feeling then, in the middle of listening to Ke$ha singing about wood (or maybe being a lumberjack) and watching Stiles bop his head, hum under his breath.

He probably shouldn't have ignored it.

* * *

The issue, of course, is that he doesn't actually figure out what could go wrong until they're stepping out of the car, possibly because he's managed to retain some level of hope and positivity throughout his crappy, _crappy _life. So he's hoping for the best, which is about when Isaac decides that it would be a good time to start trying to maul the people they're trying to make friends with.

"Oh _shit_," Stiles says as he leaps out of the car, as though he stands a chance against Isaac on a rampage.

Derek doesn't have the time to concur, or to admire the fact that the boy had managed to hit the auto-lock on the truck to keep the other two in.

He doesn't praise that little bit of foresight because he's too busy trying to keep his packmate from getting them all killed, but he's still grateful that a snarling Erica and Boyd are semi-safely locked away from everyone else.

Lord knows one is bad enough to deal with. Three, and Derek might just end up with an ulcer.

"I knew something like this would happen," Derek grunts as he holds Isaac back from possibly mauling and/or possibly getting mauled _by _members of their own species.

Stiles grunts back as he mostly, ineffectually, pushes at Isaac's chest. "And to think," he grumbles, because he has to be a sarcastic little shit even when they're in a load of trouble, "you tried to keep _me _from coming, instead. Like _I'm_ the biggest threat to this 'mission'. _Me_."

"Can we not do this right now?" Derek damned near pleads, his teeth grit in effort because Isaac is completely out of control and Derek really, _really _doesn't want to hurt him if he can avoid it- in part because he hasn't been that sort of Alpha in a small age, but mostly because there's a big chance that Stiles will actually try to kill him in his sleep.

After all, it's a well known that fact Isaac is Stiles' favorite- brohood with Scott and all the history he shares with everyone else, including Derek, be damned. Derek is convinced that it's Isaac's puppy face, combined with Stiles' inherent need to be a nagging soccer mom. Scott says it's because of Isaac's sad, sad, _sad _history. But hey, Derek has a worse history than _that_ and he hasn't gotten Stiles to cuddle with him and feed him baked goods yet.

Not that Derek wants him to.

So.

Okay so he might have a slight _thing_ for the kid.

"Shouldn't have tried to leave me behind then," Stiles rants and pulls Derek out of his thoughts, because he lives to be the object of Derek's eternal misery (excluding, of course, the Hale fire and all previous girlfriends, ever).

"Okay but _seriously_," Derek snarls, because fucking _seriously_, "there is a _time and place_. Like when we're _not _keeping one of our own from ripping out the throats of various people before getting killed himself."

"Your own damned fault," Stiles snarks back because he's an ass and is also the worst sort of person sometimes. "I mean really, what were you planning on doing without me here? Bark at these guys and hope a treaty writes itself?"

Well actually, Derek hadn't gotten that far in his thought process- at least, not for this time. He'd placed his hopes in a nice peaceful visit where he could scope everything out and possibly relax amongst his brethren before dragging Stiles in to do the smooth talking.

But he wasn't gonna _tell _Stiles that.

"Well if you'd have just followed the _plan_," he starts to retort, completely ignoring the fact that he hadn't so much as mentioned said plan in passing, when Stiles suddenly drops the argument altogether.

Derek isn't fooled into thinking this is over.

"Dammit Isaac!" Stiles screeches in the meantime, sounding like he's spent the past eight or so hours crammed into a car with a bunch of antsy werewolves, only to leap out at the end of the trip to play barrier. He sounds a lot like he's had it up to _here_. "Calm the fuck _down_! Or so fucking help me, I will blast your ass from here back to Beacon Hills."

Even Derek is a little terrified- which means that Isaac drops like a fucking rock, whimpering softly as he nudges at Stiles torso with his partially transformed nose.

Derek is possibly the only one who isn't utterly shocked at this turn of events, likely because he knows exactly what Stiles can and will do to the people who piss him off, pack or not.

"I've always said that your annoying ass voice will come in handy one day," Derek says wisely after he's sure that everything will be okay and he can take a step back.

He nonchalantly (_gleefully_) dodges the rocks that Stiles throws at him.

* * *

So to recap, Isaac is back to being human because Stiles basically shouts him into it, which is sort of weird but not really because that's how Stiles gets shit done with the pack anyway- sarcasm and screaming.

(There's also something about watching him as he gets into it, face red and lips curled up in a small snarl, that does something to Derek's insides. But he usually chooses to ignore that bit.)

Either way, everyone is calm now (well, for a relative definition of the term) and Derek's thinking that maybe this actually has a snowball's chance in hell. He's just starting to think that this whole endeavor has a possibility of ending on a positive note, with people remaining relatively unmauled- when shit hits the fan all over again.

The problem here, is that he really should know better than to let his guard down; things never go well for him, as a rule of thumb, and it never bodes well for him to tempt fate.

Which is probably why everything is fine, even with Isaac quietly whimpering away and Stiles softly cooing and petting, and the second Derek relaxes a little, one of the other pack's Betas loses it and aims straight for Stiles.

Because Stiles is fucking human and so, so fragile and such an easy fucking target.

Between one blink and the next, Derek finds himself in front of the asshole who'd attacked, snarling and covered in blood and shielding his pack mates from being ripped to shreds. If anyone were to ask, he wouldn't even remember getting there, or sinking his claws into the other wolf.

All he knows is that his precious people are in danger and he needs to make sure that they're safe.

Granted, in the tiny part of his heart that isn't geared towards being protector, he knows that whatever alliance that he'd wanted to build will never happen now- because attacking a packmate of the pack that you're trying to be friends with never ends well.

It's all over.v

But-

"What the _fuck_ just happened?!" Stiles is yelling in the background and Derek can't bring himself to really give a damn- because a screeching Stiles means a live one and _that_-

Derek finds himself slumping down next to the most irritating boy he's ever met and just- breathing him in.

It's just so hard to be panicking about the situation when Stiles is so sweetly still screeching away, at the top of his blessedly intact lungs.

Now, if only they can get back to the car and go back home without anyone noticing.

* * *

Unfortunately, any hopes of maybe running away and/or getting the fuck out of dodge are put on hold when the Alpha walks over from wherever he'd been.

Derek starts making his usual plans of honorable self-sacrifice- something that Stiles is aware of if the sudden vicious glare he throws at Derek is of any indication, and how the fuck does he do that anyway?- when the burly man crouches in front of Derek's prone form.

'This is it,' Derek thinks, ready to go out with pride, when the world comes to a screeching halt.

Fucking _again_.

"I apologize for my pack member," the Alpha says while Derek is trying to make sure that his heart doesn't leap out of his mouth, his voice resonating with power, "and I understand that your actions were in the name of protecting your own."

Derek's too busy choking on his own tongue and innards to respond, but he nods to the best of his abilities.

It's all going surprisingly well for a situation where someone had just effectively, _violently and bloodily_, KO'd someone else. Derek is really fucking surprised, and so is Stiles if his gaping is of any indication. Things like this just don't happen to them; they don't luck out unless it involves finding something that wants them dead.

This shit is too weird.

Then the other Alpha drops the bomb, and things feel normal again.

"After all," he says blithely, oblivious to the twin looks of complete shock on Derek's and Stiles' faces, "one cannot exact retribution from a man for shedding blood in order to protect his mate."

'Ah, must be Tuesday,' Derek thinks bitterly. The look on his face suggests that Stiles agrees.

Derek knows _exactly _the situation they're in. If he opens his mouth now and says that they're not mates, he and his pack are as good as hunted and killed.

On the other hand, if he goes with it and they get caught in a lie, the results are exactly the same. Unless, of course, Stiles kills him in his sleep first. But either way they're all dead and bloody and not good.

To boot, it would be a thin rope they'd be walking because Stiles and Derek _don't smell like mates_. Derek has no fucking idea how the other man, an alpha, could possibly think otherwise because there is a very distinctive scent attached to a mated pair and Derek and Stiles _do not possess it_.

Granted, Stiles has a quite a bit of Derek's scent on him, mostly because Derek takes any and all opportunities for physical contact and _runs _with them. But Stiles still doesn't smell like Derek's mate, and Derek doesn't smell like Stiles', and Derek honestly doesn't where this confusion is even coming from.

On the other hand, this is possibly the only fucking chance they've got at getting all of them out of this in one piece and, pride or not, ego or not, Derek isn't about to let it go.

When Stiles opens his mouth, clearly to set the Alpha straight, Derek takes pleasure in viciously stomping on Stiles' toes before going ahead and wrapping his arm around the boy's shoulder. It's a little too easy to pull Stiles to him and fit him close _just so_, but Derek's got bigger problems than how physically compatible he is with the guy he's maybe got a little thing for.

"I apologize as well, Alpha" he says with what feels like a _painful _smile on his face. "I wasn't really thinking straight. I tend not to when my mate is involved."

He stomps on Stiles' toes again before he could try to butt in, points at the prone form of the wolf he'd taken down, and as solicitously as he can manage, says, "I do hope that the poor man will be alright."

His response from the Alpha is a belly laugh.

"Please," the bastard says as he snorts, "Call me James. And I'm _sure _he'll be fine."

The way he says it, it sounds like the poor guy is going to be dead very soon, and James will be the one to assure it.

Derek's just glad that it's not Stiles or the rest of their pack that James is talking about.

"This is Liam, my son and heir," James says as he points out one of the others in the crowd. "He'll be the one to show you around."

Liam's smile welcome, if that's what it's supposed to be, is really more of a leer; and it completely passes over Derek and the rest of the pack to land squarely on Stiles, who's too busy glaring at Derek to notice anything else.

No one is comfortable with that.

* * *

Stiles doesn't waste any time in dragging him off once the air has cleared, which admittedly ends up taking a lot longer than Derek had thought he'd wait.

"_What_, in the _actual fuck_, is going on?!" the other boy whispers harshly, eyes darting around suspiciously like there are eavesdroppers in the shadows and he just _knows _it.

'Typical Stiles,' Derek thinks affectionately, although he might not be too far off this time around.

He sighs, and starts to quietly explain their situation, in agonizing, painful detail- and by the time he's done, Stiles looks a little like someone's taken to his head with a baseball, as though he's terrified and about two seconds away from vomiting.

"And because you leapt to my defense like that, James thinks that-we have to act like-" He cuts himself off as though he can't even finish the sentence.

"Yes," Derek says, as though he's talking to someone particularly slow, and nods.

Stiles just gives him the side eye, before retorting back. "We couldn't have just fought our way out?" he asks, actually sounding reasonable, as though he were trying to find a reason to keep up this charade, like this needs to be the last fucking resort.

Derek just snorts. "Us and what army?" Realistically, all they've got going for them is a fledgling Alpha, a fledgling witch, and three fledgling betas. There was no damned way that any of them would've gotten out alive.

By the sigh Stiles lets out, he gets that too. "I guess we've got no choice then, huh?" he asks, looking at Derek through his lashes.

To be completely honest, Derek is a little insulted. Stiles could do a whole fucking lot worse than him. He's hot, if nothing else, and Stiles should know by now that Derek would defend him to the end. Years of constantly risking their lives for each other, years of basically wrangling a bunch of teenage assholes (then, assholes in their early twenties) together; Derek would think that that's enough to form _something_.

Then again, he's not exactly a _catch_, now is he? He's got a truly massive amount of emotional baggage to carry around, and there are times when he basically sits back and lets Stiles do all the heavy lifting with their pack of misfits. So why should the kid be thrilled to be declared his mate, real or not?

It's not exactly rocket science, and it's really fucking depressing to think about.

He's brought out of his melancholy thoughts when Stiles' ineffectively tries to hipcheck him. "Come on then, Sourwolf," he says, his voice gentle in a way that says that he's genuinely considering pulling Derek into one of his bro hugs. "It can't be that bad, can it? We've been in worse situations before."

Derek just gives him a dark look. "You have no idea what I'm going to have to put up with."

Stiles flat out _yelps _in response, which is fucking hysterical and serves to diffuse the heavy situation. "Hey!" he barks, "_I_, okay, am a fucking _catch_. No need to look so fucking glum about this!"

Derek just deadpans at him. "Wasn't exactly even thinking about that aspect yet," he says, with a whole lot of feeling behind his stare, "what with the killer pack politics and the _not dying _that we have to deal with. But now that you've brought it up..."

He doesn't even pretend not to laugh at the look on Stiles' face; mostly because the guy he already likes is trying to convince him that he's a catch when Derek _already knows_.

The irony is killing him.

Eventually things settle down again, and the atmosphere feels peaceful for the first time since this whole debacle started.

"We'll get through it, Der," Stiles says after a while, his voice soft and intimate as he pulls out the nickname that he only uses when he thinks Derek's gonna go supernova, "You'll see. Everything will be fine. How hard can it be?"

Derek just nods and doesn't bother to correct him. He'll find out soon enough anyway.

* * *

When they explain the situation to Isaac, Erica, and Boyd, all three of them throw their heads back and laugh and laugh and _laugh_.

This isn't anything new or different.

What's strange is that none of the three of them are surprised.

* * *

The thing is, it's _not _hard, _at all_.

Actually no, it'd be better to say that it's fucking _easy_ because saying that it's not hard implies that there is at least some miniscule degree of difficulty.

Possibly because Derek doesn't really have to do anything different other than stop hiding some of the affection he feels for Stiles and Stiles, well, he takes to the whole thing like a duck to water.

To be fair, he's a fucking _natural _at giving Derek heart palpitations, although no one supposes that this is anything new, least of all Isaac, Erica, and Boyd who'd seen Stiles in action on multiple occasions.

But no, it's really the other pack makes it such a walk in the park.

They go about doing everything that they normally do, because they don't really know how else to act- they get lead around by Liam (whom Derek has his eye on, for _reasons_) for a few hours a day, and then they basically keep to themselves and just, well, bond.

James' pack eats it up like they're putting on a drama.

According to every gossip, according to every lovesick teen, what Derek and Stiles do all the damned time is apparently the basis for a perfect mateship.

Everytime Derek trains one of his betas and sends them packing to Stiles to be checked for injuries, there is someone there to coo about how wonderful it is that Derek and his mate are able to balance each other so perfectly.

Everytime Stiles yells at one of them for not being more careful, for not taking their health into consideration, for not eating on time, or a myriad of other things, there's someone there to practically melt at how the party being yelled at snaps to attention and does their best to get back on Stiles' good side.

Whenever there's a small puppy pile around Stiles and Derek as they bounce new ideas for training, or maybe for a vacation, or maybe for what they're going to have to do when they get back home- well-

Suffice it to say, the entirety of James' pack is viciously enamored with DerekandStiles; Derek doesn't know if that's a good thing or not.

Weeks pass and somehow, it works. Granted, _they still don't smell like mates should_, even if they do smell even more like each now because they've been sharing a bed long enough while in this situation. But no one else bothers to question that.

Derek, though? He's starting to have a bit of a problem, because it's been three weeks of waking up spooned to Stiles- of Stiles suddenly stopping him and pecking him on the cheek, of Stiles curling into him during pack meetings, of Stiles being everywhere, all the time- and Derek, well, his inner wolf is starting to go a little wonky.

It's bad enough that Derek had started off on this endeavor with atleast a minor crush; he'd acknowledged that ages ago, had learned to live with it and to move on a little more each time Stiles would come home smelling like someone else.

And yes, ok.

There _have _been days when Derek has slept with Stiles, when they're out hunting something big and Stiles ends up spending the night in Derek's bed because he refuses to sleep on his 'pathetic excuse for a couch.' There have even been multiple days in a row that this has happened, with Stiles in close quarters for three, sometimes four, days.

Even in those instances, they've never slept separate, agreeing that the pack mentality would assure that they end up cuddled up before the night was out, anyway. They've, well ok. _Stiles _has never been shy about pulling Derek close on occasion and on his bad days, even Derek's been known to bask a little in the affection that Stiles so easily doles out.

But _this_, three going on four weeks, this is _fucking_ with him. It's making it impossible to separate Stiles away from being _Derek's_- because now Derek wakes up to him, has to deal with him smelling like Derek, has to deal with him talking in his sleep, with his sleepy smiles in the mornings, with his blabbering and his hair and his fingers through Derek's hair and the soft look in his eyes whenever he looks at Derek-

It's official.

Derek is going to die and it will have absolutely nothing to do with the other pack.

* * *

While Derek is busy wallowing in self pity, Stiles takes the initiative to actually do what they'd come to do- to forge an alliance with another pack so that, if and when the times comes, they're not friendless, sitting ducks with 'Eat us, we're delicious!' tacked to their foreheads.

He starts to spend more time with the other pack, making friends like he always does, as though it's as easy as breathing, because he's Stiles and his smile is akin to sunshine on his best days. He even becomes best friends with the Alpha's son, Liam, which grinds against Derek in a way that he's not really familiar or comfortable with.

Honestly, he can't help the morose sigh that escapes him.

"You're being more pathetic than usual," Erica observes suddenly, as she pops up out of fucking nowhere and plops down next to him, because she is a fucking harpy and knows that Derek won't go after her while Stiles is in direct earshot.

"I know," Derek mumbles as he watches Stiles throw his head back and laugh at some joke Liam had cracked, because what the hell else can he say?

He can't tell Stiles to stop being friends with someone, even if said someone looks a lot like he wants to _eat _Stiles. To boot, Liam is _valuable_, because he's the Alpha's son and he holds sway.

All Derek can do is put up with it.

That doesn't mean he isn't going to warn Stiles as much as he can, though.

"What's on your mind, babe?" Stiles asks him that night when he goes to broach the subject, the pet name flowing off his tongue, probably because he's been saying things like that for weeks now, "You look like someone slipped a bug into your food."

Derek, because he's vaguely pathetic and really too immersed in this fantasy now, just whines a little and falls into bed next to Stiles, pulls him close and just nuzzles in. He just isn't good at expressing himself in situations like this and, odds are, he never will be.

"Ok then," Stiles says and turns off the lights.

The dark is comforting for Derek, like if Stiles can't see him struggling with himself, getting the words out will be any easier. Maybe Stiles had known that.

"I don't like Liam," he manages to say after a lot of effort.

"You've got nothing to worry about," Stiles slurs back sleepily and pets Derek's hair til they're both zonked out.

* * *

The problem though, is that things go from bad to worse.

What starts off as just some kidding around and being buddies quickly starts to escalate to Liam being a fucking creep and Stiles being totally oblivious to exactly how creepy Liam is being.

Everytime Derek so much as brings up Liam, Stiles is quick to shut the fuck down and change subjects, and God forbid that Derek actually manages to express a negative opinion of the man.

"He's just a _friend_, Derek, Jesus," Stiles yells whenever Derek starts to get insistent, and he always looks like he's about two seconds away from cracking apart when they really start to get into it about the bastard, "I don't understand what the problem is."

"He's too familiar with you!" Derek always exclaims back, tries not to yell because even years of being around werewolves hasn't fully familiarized Stiles with certain aspects of courtship. None of it is Stiles' fault, he keeps having to remind himself, because Liam is the one who knows what he's doing and Liam is the one doing what he's not supposed to do, anyway.

It's still hard though, because the subject is still touchy and he and Derek still get into explosive fights about Derek's behavior and how it's unravelling all the work Stiles is putting into alliance.

Derek honestly doesn't know what to do.

As usual though, it's Stiles who figures out how to compromise, possibly because he knows that if it were up to Derek, he'd just get stared at and nothing will actually get done.

"Alright," he sighs, about a week after their mutual reenactment of the Cold War, "_Alright_. If it'll make you feel, I don't know, less paranoid, you can just hang out with me and Liam."

"_Provided_," he goes on to say before Derek can even open his mouth, "that you're _nice_, and don't do anything to antagonize him."

He's got the look, like he doesn't actually expect Derek to listen at all and knows that this isn't going to end well.

Derek is affronted. "I can do nice," he says, giving Stiles one of his more fearsome glowers, "I can do nice better than pretty much anyone."

Stiles looks, in a word, skeptical. But whatever, Derek can now be around incase anything happens and someone needs to rip off someone else's arms.

That's all that matters.

And if on the very first day of their compromise, Derek flashes teeth at Liam and pulls Stiles away whenever the man so much as _looks _at Stiles for too long. Well.

("Sorry about that," Stiles says with a chuckle, "Derek's just a bit of a Sourwolf is all." He pauses for a second to shoot Derek a _look_, "And we all know how feels about sharing. Right? _Even if the perceived threat isn't real_."

Derek just grumbles something about being well within his rights before returning to simultaneously glaring at the world at large and aggressively cuddling Stiles.

Liam looks astonished, like he's utterly flabbergasted that Stiles hasn't picked up on his very obvious overtures.

Derek won't say that he _sympathizes_, per se, but he does understand how frustrating Stiles' obliviousness can be.)

* * *

After that, Derek is always there to cockblock Liam whenever he tries anything.

Liam doesn't get to try anything, because Derek will be there to rip his balls off and feed them to him through a straw.

Literally, if he needs to.

* * *

Eventually, it all does come to a head, with Liam losing patience and well, maybe not _attacking_ Stiles, exactly.

But he definitely does grab for Stiles when Derek's back is turned for a second, all lust and power in his scent, and Stiles does freak out and scream- so when Derek finally does what he's been wanting to do and pushes Liam to the ground, in front of his father and his pack no less, he feels like he's well within his rights.

"My mate," he growls out, and he knows he's flashing eyes like nothing else, but it's like he can't _stop_. As far as the wolf side of him is concerned Stiles, his mate, is on the ground, cradling his hurt wrist to his ribs and it hurts Derek's heart to the point where it comes out of his chest in the form of a growl.

"Derek," Stiles says gently, as though talking to a spooked animal, "Come on Derek, it's all ok. See? Nothing's broken."

He's holding out his swollen wrist like it's all ok when absolutely nothing is, his good hand rubbing small circles into Derek's arm, and Derek's had just about enough.

"You stay away from him," he tells Liam, struggling not to cut his tongue on his own teeth, and gasps through furious breaths, "You stay the _fuck _away from him."

Liam has a the gall to snort. "And why should I?" he asks, completely calm in a way Derek isn't.

"Because he isn't yours," Derek retorts.

But he already knows, from the glint in Liam's eye, from the words that he'd just said, that things are about to spiral downward- because he hadn't said, 'Stiles is mine.' He'd only said that Stiles wasn't _Liam's_, and that right there says so much more about the sort of chances that Liam has if he were to do something like say, challenge Derek for his mate.

The bastard doesn't waste any time at all.

"I believe," he says, looking every bit the complete and total _jackass_ as he parades in front of his father and the rest of the pack, "that Stiles will be much happier with me, that he's actually _un_happy with Derek."

Stiles squawk of, "What? I will not! I am not!" goes completely and utterly ignored.

Derek just cracks his neck and raises an eyebrow, even as he gloms on to Stiles' side in an effort not to rip any throats out. He's pretty sure that, right now, it's only Stiles' scent and the sound of Stiles' heartbeat that's keeping him from going fucking _postal_ and he's got just enough sense left in him to know that that's a good thing.

"This is proof," Liam continues on, still completely on ice as he points at Stiles' vaguely annoyed expression, "Derek is aggressive and doesn't give Stiles the sort of freedom that a person like him deserves. I believe that, given time, Stiles will break under such a depressing environment."

James, the bastard, just looks amused at the proceedings. "And what," he asks, laughter in his voice, "do you propose to do about it?"

Liam smirks. "I thought you'd never ask," he says before cracking his shoulders and his claws.

"I call for a challenge. Winner gets Stiles."

Derek lets loose as a blood thirsty grin, teeth sharp and glinting in the light and says, "Bring it on."

The Alpha just shrugs and says, "Tomorrow at noon then. Winner gets the human, loser dies."

* * *

It takes another hour after the challenge is thrown down, for him to be calmer and less prone to mass murder sprees and for his hindbrain to understand that Stiles isn't too badly off, before he figures out just what they've gotten themselves into.

Stiles is right there to give him unimpressed looks all the while.

But for once, Derek isn't cowed by that look; for once, he actually glares back mostly because he's got bigger problems to deal with and they're mostly not his damned fault.

Tomorrow, when he goes into whatever arena James chooses, he's going to rip Liam's innards out through his mouth and feed everything to the carrion. This much he knows.

Between the two of them, Derek is definitely the stronger one, the one who's used to fighting for everything and understands, fully, just what he has to lose. Despite what Liam seems to think, there isn't even a real fight here.

But here's the plot twist.

It's one thing to maul a random member of another pack and to have it be let go; it's another thing altogether to kill the Alpha's son, even if it had been said son to issue to challenge.

One way or another, either he's going to die and Stiles is going to end up Liam's mate (on the off chance that Liam actually wins), or they're all going to die, period.

Stiles shivers when Derek says as much, when he adds, "This could've been avoided if you'd have listened to me about the asshole. I fucking told you so."

"It's just a teensey little misunderstanding," Stiles replies, quietly for once and with an uneasy look on his face, "I'll have a chat with Liam and we'll have it all cleared up in no time at all."

"Yeah, right," Derek doesn't say out of the goodness of his heart, doesn't point out that they've managed to convince the other pack that they're a bonded, mated pair even though they don't smell like one and Liam is _still _after him.

He also doesn't remind Stiles of how just one of his Tiny Little MisunderstandingsTM had landed Derek in prison.

More than once.

But that's more because Stiles gets this pinched look on his face and he gets really quiet, and Derek's got better things to do than deal with a glaring, accusatory pack and/or emotions having anything to do whatsoever with Stiles' epic puppy face.

Plus, he figures that if these are some of his last days with Stiles, he should atleast try to be less antagonistic, maybe actually tell Stiles how he feels. But then again, what's the point? If they're going to die anyway, why burden Stiles with his baggage?

"Hello, earth to Derek, do you read Derek. Yoo hoooo."

"Hn," Derek grunts as Stiles' grating, obnoxious rendition of his own voice rips him out of morbid thoughts, and launches him back into a brighter, if more annoying, world.

"I read loud and clear, Moron," he says in response, pushing lightly at Stiles' shoulder as he walks past, "Now fix this mess you've made."

"Hey!" he hears, child-like indignation heavy in Stiles' voice and has to clench his teeth to stop from grinning despite the situation.

* * *

"You know I'm a witch, yeah?" Stiles asks a while after still, "I could've and would've gladly blasted his ass to hell. I didn't need you to come running in, claws out, like wolf charming."

Derek just looks away, out the window with the fantastic view that Stiles still hasn't stopped gushing about- he doesn't want to admit that he hadn't been able to help himself.

"Not that I don't appreciate it, of course!" Stiles plows on, flailing and obviously misinterpreting Derek's silence like the giant dork that he is, "It's always nice knowing that your Alpha isn't going to let you get killed, even if you can stop yourself from getting killed anyway. It's the principle of the thing and the thought is definitely nic-"

"Stiles," Derek cuts in before the kid can really gather some steam, "shut up."

He absolutely does not smiles a little when Stiles pouts, and he dutifully deadpans his fear when Stiles threatens to blast him, again, because ungrateful Alpha wolves deserve nothing less.

"Jerk," Stiles mumbles.

"I know," Derek shoots back peaceably, even though he isn't sure if he's answering the question or just retorting back.

That night, Derek curls up against Stiles, pulls him as close as he possibly can and just savors being able to hold him.

"It'll be ok, Der," Stiles says, voice heavy with sleep as he nuzzles into Derek's chest, "You'll see; we'll figure something out."

Derek tightens his grip and whispers, "Ok."

* * *

All things considered, it's really no surprise that Derek is woken up by Stiles at 4 fucking AM, because Stiles tends to be squirrelly as fuck at the best of times.

Then again, that doesn't mean that Derek is pleased to be woken up at the asscrack of dawn, with a pillow to the face.

Still, when Stiles grins at him and says, "Come on Sourwolf! Wake up; I've got a plan!" Well, it's the best damned thing Derek's heard in a long fucking time.

The morning of the Challenge rises with all the intensity of a thousand vengeful suns and neither Derek nor Stiles really give a damn because they've _got this_.

"The key," Stiles says, a shit eating grin on his face, "is to make him withdraw."

Derek grins back, and he doesn't even care that he probably looks a lot more soppy than he has to.

* * *

Long story short, the ending is really fucking anticlimactic because, here's the thing, Stiles is a fucking _genius_.

Also, he is a _witch_.

It's a fact that tends to be easy to miss when one does not know Stiles as intimately as his pack does, because it's not like he goes around blasting things for shits and giggles, or even as much as he threatens to. As it is, on a normal day, Stiles is a normal person and therein lies the kicker.

James' pack, despite being in hearing range whenever Stiles threatened to blast one of them, had never made the connection. Otherwise, shit would have hit the fan a _long _while back.

See, werewolves and witches have a bit of a _history_, as it were, and it isn't something that Derek and the rest of the pack particularly know or care to remember because Stiles is theirs no matter what.

But the other pack...well.

To boot, Stiles is clearly more than happy to be showing off.

"So here's the deal," he says to Liam, as he oh so casually blasts at a tree and blows it to fucking smithereens, "I don't think that this challenge is going to end in your favor."

Liam just stares, gaping a little at the pothole that's left behind.

"I mean, don't get me wrong," Stiles blithely continues, ignoring the small warning growl that Derek can't hold back, "It's not that I'm not flattered. But see, I'm a witch and you're a wolf and I don't think things are going to work out." He pretends to think, "But not because I'm a witch and you're a wolf."

"More because my _mate_," he goes on, pointing at Derek for emphasis, (Derek who's too busy swooning mildly to do much more than flex his muscles a little, because Stiles had called him his _mate_), "would have ripped you limb from limb and, to make sure that my pack doesn't get murdered for the throwdown _you_ asked for, I'd have had to kill all of you."

Derek just steps up and wraps his arms around Stiles' waist, happily burying his nose into Stiles' neck and trying and mostly failing at not grinning til his face feels like it's splitting open. He can't even find enough snark in himself to point out just how absurd Stiles' claims are because he's already listing a little from taking out a _tree_, not that he can do that in this particular setting anyway.

He's only too happy to pull Stiles close and keep him there.

James steps up; he looks very, very curious. "Do you really think you can take out all of us?"

Stiles just raises an eyebrow and shrugs. "Do you really wanna see us try?"

The answer is very clearly no.

* * *

By the time they've packed up their bags and loaded up the rental truck, Derek still hasn't managed to let go of Stiles, basking in his presence just a little bit longer before things have to go back to the way they were before.

He honestly doesn't think that he'll be able to stand it, even with the big fix he's trying to give himself, because now he knows. He knows what it's like to wake up to Stiles day after day after day, to listen to him blabber on and on, to pull him close and to never have to let go.

So no, he'll never be able to go back from DerekandStiles to Derek and Stiles and it's really, honestly breaking his heart.

But because he'd obviously killed multiple small children in his past life, he doesn't even get to wallow in peace.

"Oh, for the love of," Stiles bites out suddenly, rolling his eyes sky high as he viciously interrupts Derek's melancholy thoughts, because he's a bastard and Derek hates him almost as much as he loves him sometimes. "I've had about enough of this. Fucking_, come here._"

Derek's about to ask "come where?", or maybe something else snarky and 'in character', when Stiles just pulls him down and kisses him.

He tastes like happiness and sunshine, and of sugar and magic, and ok, maybe Derek doesn't hate him after all.

This is probably one of those moments of clarity all the romantics are always going on about.

"Really?" he asks when he can finally make himself pull away, trying and mostly failing to keep the hope out of his voice.

Because _really_, he hadn't been kidding about how good things never happen to him and Stiles, well, he's a really, really, _really_ good thing- an _amazing _thing even.

Stiles just stares. "Derek," he says slowly, sounding just a little lost, "I don't just fall into bed with anyone, purely sleep related or not. I don't raise a pack with just anyone, and I definitely don't kiss anyone that I'm not already in a relationship with."

"Relationship?" Derek parrots and Stiles rolls his eyes, again.

"Happy two month anniversary asshole," he says, "I mean, I wasn't going to break it to you for a couple more months, was gonna give you a chance to catch up. But since you're obviously never going to catch the clue bus…"

Derek, well, he can't stop the smile from blooming on his face, can't stop the giddy laugh that falls out of his mouth.

Thankfully, he's too busy falling into Stiles, too busy pressing kisses along Stiles' face, to really embarrass himself too much.

* * *

("But you seemed so against this whole pretend mates business, what the hell else was I supposed to think?" Derek will ask one day.

Stiles will snort. "Maybe I just didn't want to throw our private business around for everyone to see, ever think of that? Plus, you forget. I was already on the clue bus, you were not."

And that will be that.)

* * *

EPILOGUE:

The great thing is that things still don't change, even when they get back home and Stiles makes the pack pout their individual ways through all the summer homework they'd been putting off.

He still snarks with Derek, and he still fights and trains with Derek, and Derek is still overwhelmingly overprotective of him as one of the few humans in his slowly growing pack.

Except, now Derek gets to keep him close every day, to cherish his smiles and to count the freckles across his nose as the fading sun brings them out. He gets to kiss Stiles to shut him up, gets to pick him up and pull him close and curl around him whenever the fuck he wants.

He's careful not to let Stiles know how he thinks about him, though, because in that way lies madness and blackmail.

Then again, he wouldn't be surprised if Stiles already knew- it isn't as though Derek's ever been good about hiding how he feels, anyway.

It's just how they work.

("God you can be such a fucking nag," he whispers into Stiles' ear while the rest of the pack is too busy concentrating on their work, pulls him close and nuzzles just under above his jawline.

Stiles snorts softly before turning and pressing a kiss to his nose. "Can't have the kids taking after _you_ in the brains department, now can we?")

* * *

END

* * *

Also known as the one where Derek is slow as dirt. But that's ok, because Stiles is driving the clue bus and he has every intention of running Derek over.

Incidentally, this fic is, like, a week late and it honestly isn't even remotely near the best I could've done. I'm so, so sorry! But real life has this habit of kicking me in the ass and I just started a new responsible adult job in mid January. Between that and school, I haven't been able to do much writing at all.

I'll definitely revisit for revision at a later date- perhaps over spring break. For now, I hope this wasn't too, too bad.


End file.
